HIGHTIDE
HIGHTIDE
PREVIEW ISSUE 2017
Why?
by Amandajo Roach
He pulls my hair
He slaps my face
He kicks me on the floor
There is so much more
I love him so much
So I don’t have the strength
To walk out the door
There’s blood on my face
Everything hurts
And all I can do is cry
Every night I find myself asking why?
I made him mad
So this is what he does
I wish I knew his reason why
My heart won’t let me leave him
And it hurts too much to try
And here I am again asking myself why?
I wonder if this is how my life will be
From now until the day that I die
When the Sun Goes Down - Oil on panel
by Rosco Peters
Table of Contents
“It all started with some messaging back and forth on a dating site. Then very quickly it was all day texting, all night phone calls.... Within a week we were together every single day. He wanted to know everything about me. He said he was looking more than just another girlfriend, he was looking for a best friend, a wife, a mother to his future children. I had no idea that my own words, thoughts and reflections on my own life would be used against me very soon.
Behind Closed Doors
by Jaiden Carroll, Angel Johnson, and Jazlyn Toler
Behind Closed Doors
Every night is a replay of the previous
Raised hands, broken china, and shrieks for help
The room is dark – the smell of blood fills the nose
I am no longer in control
Behind closed doors is where this happens
To get help is far more dangerous
In silence, I find peace
Bandages cover what is not to be talked about
Although bruises and scrapes are not hard to see
Behind closed doors is where this happens
For every day that goes by, a life is lost
Unnoticed, and useless is where I reside
Each day is a menace, for I hate coming home
Where one last time, I was found six feet below
Behind closed doors is where this happens
The Televangelist Epiphany
by Megan Maloof
The door slammed behind him and sent thunder through her bones. She felt it shake the floor. Bruises bloomed on her arm to go with the ones already around her wrist like raisins in the sun from his fingers grabbing and pulling her to the kitchen like a dog in trouble to show her his uncooked meal.
She picked herself up from the floor and marched a personal funeral procession to the bathroom as she always did when he left. In an almost trance-like state, she lowered the toilet lid, slouched over, and her hands went to her face to feel for new bruises; she can't look at herself in the mirror anymore. Her laugh lines have faded since the engagement, and the long chestnut brown hair that she loved to wear down was short, jagged, and dry from when she cropped it with kitchen shears--less hair for him to grab and pull. Her right eye was starting to swell under her crooked fingers.
A Declaration for Sacrifice
by Jonathan Salser
Every day, every hour, every minute has been pain.
You abused, You destroyed this marriage of ours by putting me in chains.
The life you promised, this life we have shared, you have taken in Vain
By Your Words, By Your Actions have not only left stains on skin but on my brain.
This cycle, this routine of abuse must end.
Your Jekyll to Hyde, Your Angel to Devil must stop.
They have Broken me, They have Finished.
I am no longer whole; I am done.
You left me no choice, you left me no option.
They say two is better than… They say Yin can’t live without Yang.
When a mutual relationship turns into parasitic Relationship,
There is no choice. There are no options except one
Which is to survive; to sacrifice or be sacrifice.
“I was caught up in a cycle of abuse, constantly being beaten and belittle by my husband. This was the man who was supposed to love and protect me yet he was hitting me and taking away every ounce of dignity I had. I was ashamed, and alone, there was no way I could tell this to anyone. There was a cycle of leaving and going back. I feared for my life because he constantly told me that he would kill me. He once held a knife to my throat and I could feel the tip of the blade puncture my skin. I was threatened with a gun and never doubted the day would come when he would kill me. I didn’t have a clue of what to do or where to turn. It was one of the times that I had left, March 22, 1992, that my husband attempted to make one of his threats a reality. He shot me twice but thankfully I survived and I have not been silent since.”
Weeping Woman
by Brenda McCollum and Ceejay Ham
Derma
defaced
discolored
disgraced
Picasso’s palette
black
violet
crimson
rage-stained
Precious portrait…A priceless piece of art
Now lay in ruins in the studio…Alone in the dark
A masterpiece of malevolent madness…He’s created
Evil won’t win…She refuses to live out hatred!
Black And Blue
by Willie Vaughn
My vision, obscured by a vicious veil of black and blue,
Now permits me to see past its facade.
Before, its alluring smile would entice me.
Shivers freely making way down my spine.
That same smile, now, squirms and twists.
It fails to be human, crocodile in appearance.
Shivers, now chills, rush down my very being.
Fear holding a firm yet tight grip on my heart.
Gradually, I take measures to free myself of its reign.
Every moment out of its company is one of cunning.
But it knows of my discomforts and that I’m no longer blind.
It patrols our home, making freedom only a dream.
Eyes, akin to a vulture's, take note of my every movement.
Each step. Each twitch. Each flinch. Each scream.
One day, I know, a single mistake will cease me.
It’s gaze remaining aloof as it tears me apart.
My vision will be scarred with a permanent black.
Never again with a blue hue.
“My first encounter with domestic abuse started in high school. I experience every form of abuse. I wasn't taught the signs of domestic violence. I went from one domestic violence relationship to the next. It had become a cycle that I didn't know how to break. On the last incident my husband at the time, beat me so bad that it caused me to have a miscarriage. That was it, I had enough. I got courage to leave that relationship. I broke the cycle of abuse, now I'm on a mission to help and educate others the signs abuse.”
Broken Family
by Amanda Chapman
Sister cries…
Brother yells…
Mother screams…
Father laughs…
Sister cries harder…
Brother yells louder, “STOP”…
Mother screams and shakes…
Father laughs and punches…
Sister runs away…
Brother tries to stop the beatings…
Mother screams…
Father laughs louder…
Sister is gone…
Brother is dead…
Mother has lost her children…
Father is in prison…
No more cries…
No more yells…
No more screams…
No more laughing and punching…
Nothing but a broken family is left and no one can put them back
Together again…
What Happened?
by Chelsea Merceri
“Mac, I don’t feel good. Something’s wrong . . . I can feel it. I am so scared. I have never been this scared . . . ever . . . . I can’t stop shaking. Please . . . please just start talking to me. Say anything—sing me a song,” a panicked whisper rushed through the old cordless phone in my trembling hand. I knew it was 1:30 a.m., but I needed someone to tell me it was all going to be okay. I wanted to cry, to hide . . . . There was nowhere to go except further under the mountain of quilted winter blankets on my squeaky twin bed.
“Rock me mama, like the wind and the rain; rock me mama like a south-bound train . . . heeyyyy mama rock me . . . ,” he sang softly, sweetly, out of tune. Mac had been my best friend for over a year now; he knew what my realities were, and understood me. He never made me feel pitied, but rather accepted, with all of my brokenness.
A Fair Warning
by Ronald Walker
(A letter written by a woman-spirit who died of domestic violence)
I was scorned by a man,
vandalized by the Hands,
that were characterized like the devil's hands,
his Mind was filtered with aberrant thoughts,
his locks were transparent from his deviant plots,
He was Lucifer in the flesh, but Legion in spirit,
His vibe seemed fresh, but his intentions were empiric,
In public, he seemed so virtuous,
behind closed doors, he turned into something ruthless,
his formality was so obscure,
like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly,
his appearance seemed so pure, But deep within he was a viper,
waiting to strike to make me nullified
My last night with him
was weight off my back,
I was waiting for the day where he finally snaps,
instead of easily busting a cap, he started plucking my naps,
I guess me suffering slowly made him laugh,
he put me in locks and holds where typical bones would snap,
but I was nearly immunized to his abusive tactics,
His final act made him a convict,
his last deed finalized him as being a marvelous prick,
he squeezed my soul out of my body, and as his hands grasped around my neck,
as my eyes rolled back, I figured seeing the bright light is what would happen next,
because I saw no point in living,
if I constantly had to play superhero every day, fighting a man like he was an articulate villain,
But now I am a messenger,
sending fair warnings to my people who fall for wolves in sheep's clothing,
Making my cautions notified but soothing,
My voice is not hard to hear, I am like the wind,
I serenade in a breeze, When they're in trouble, I am near,
I come in their time of need,
If you don't remember nothing in this letter,
always remember this:
People are like trees, their harvest seems bliss,
Till you bite into their fruits, their savor will reveal their midst,
That's how you'll know their true roots
The Sea of Forgetfulness
by Keandra Hill
Toss in the past
that makes you sad.
Toss in those lies
that made you cry.
Toss in the pain
that brought the rain.
Toss the past, the lies, and the pain
in that Sea of Forgetfulness.
This is the beginning of your
healing process.
Butterfly .............................................................................Shawntay Rivers
Why? ................................................................................. Amandajo Roach
Behind Closed Doors .......Jaiden Carroll, Jazlyn, and Angel
A Declaration for Sacrifice.................................... Jonathan Salser
Black and Blue.....................................................................Willie Vaughn
Weeping Woman...........Brenda McCollum and Ceejay Ham
Broken Family............................................................Amanda Chapman
A Fair Warning....................................................................Ronald Walker
The Sea of Forgetfulness.................................................Keandra Hill
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(full journal navigation is in the right margin)
Survivor Story 1
Survivor Story 2
Survivor Story 3
New Movement
by Larissa Berg
Very quickly things got very intense. My entire life revolved around him. I was dodging my friends, family, work, obligations, my fitness goals.... My day to day life. In less than a month suddenly we were on a family phone plan. I was paying for everything. He had just completed drug rehab and was just getting back to working. A month and a half in, he had moved in with me. Still, only me taking care of things. He said we had to have a bigger place. He was working, so we could afford it. A week after we moved, he quit his job. Slowly things started to dissolve. The blame game started. EVERYTHING was my fault.
He started to show some violent tendencies. I tried to tell myself if I would just support him and love him that he couldn't get upset with me. Nothing ever worked. He started back on drugs. He said it was because I pushed him to it. He had no coping mechanisms and the things that I did (which he could never really explain to me) caused it.
Very quickly things got very intense. My entire life revolved around him. I was dodging my friends, family, work, obligations, my fitness goals.... My day to day life. In less than a month suddenly we were on a family phone plan. I was paying for everything. He had just completed drug rehab and was just getting back to working. A month and a half in, he had moved in with me. Still, only me taking care of things. He said we had to have a bigger place. He was working, so we could afford it. A week after we moved, he quit his job. Slowly things started to dissolve. The blame game started. EVERYTHING was my fault.
He started to show some violent tendencies. I tried to tell myself if I would just support him and love him that he couldn't get upset with me. Nothing ever worked. He started back on drugs. He said it was because I pushed him to it. He had no coping mechanisms and the things that I did (which he could never really explain to me) caused it.
Around that time was when the abuse started. Every kind imaginable. There were several times when he was beating me that I worried that I was going to die and that my parents would have to see their daughter unrecognizable. One night he asked me to try a pain pill. That very quickly spiraled into far worse until I was working and participating in illegal activities to support two drug habits. I was jailed twice for shoplifting. He got away both times. My family tried to help me. I accepted it, but within 10 days started to see him again. He still had a hold on me. I had so much guilt because of the manipulation.
Down on Her Luck
by Haustin Lee
I lost two jobs, both of which I had for several years each, one 8 and one almost 14. I lost the friendship and respect of dozens of people. Many of whom still won't speak to me to this day. I let him convince me to move away with him. He convinced me to cash out my retirement fund from my main job. He very generously helped me blow $63,000 in just 4 months. The relationship was mostly fine while there was money. Then we were homeless. Sleeping in woods or park bathrooms.
Eventually we started staying at the salvation army. The people there recognized the pattern of abuse I was living. On a daily basis people would tell me I needed to go to the amity house, that they could help me. The night before I left for good, he stayed out all night on a drug binge that he had stolen the money that I had been saving for a haircut before I started my new job.
Very quickly things got very intense. My entire life revolved around him. I was dodging my friends, family, work, obligations, my fitness goals.... My day to day life. In less than a month suddenly we were on a family phone plan. I was paying for everything. He had just completed drug rehab and was just getting back to working. A month and a half in, he had moved in with me. Still, only me taking care of things. He said we had to have a bigger place. He was working, so we could afford it. A week after we moved, he quit his job. Slowly things started to dissolve. The blame game started. EVERYTHING was my fault.
He started to show some violent tendencies. I tried to tell myself if I would just support him and love him that he couldn't get upset with me. Nothing ever worked. He started back on drugs. He said it was because I pushed him to it. He had no coping mechanisms and the things that I did (which he could never really explain to me) caused it.
Around that time was when the abuse started. Every kind imaginable. There were several times when he was beating me that I worried that I was going to die and that my parents would have to see their daughter unrecognizable. One night he asked me to try a pain pill. That very quickly spiraled into far worse until I was working and participating in illegal activities to support two drug habits. I was jailed twice for shoplifting. He got away both times. My family tried to help me. I accepted it, but within 10 days started to see him again. He still had a hold on me. I had so much guilt because of the manipulation.
Cabin Fever
by Donna Smith
Stained Wood and Glass
by Larry Carter
She’s planned a life away from this place. Daydreams became her sanctuary. She dreamed of weekly mass. A small pleasure, but she wanted to fall in love with Jesus, like the televangelists told her she could. She dreamed of small houses and of meals with friends that didn’t make her feel guilty; she always wanted to try being a vegetarian.
3 years, 4 months, 12 days. Not all were like this, but most were. The good days kept her close, but were always followed by bad ones. 8 months ago, she was holding ice to her shoulder and turned on the tv to a woman who told her about the good that God can do. That he can free those who believe and love him. The woman said, “I can do all things through Christ who loves me”.
Ice cracked on the floor and her heart shattered. She was waiting for the words.
Her hands met each other in front of her face, like she saw the people from televangelist specials do, took a deep breath, and realized today was the day to be done. To be free.
Three hours later, keys jingle in the front door handle like a maid bell, telling her to greet her fiance in the foyer. Stumbling, laughing, with the extra sound of cellophane and stiff paper wrapped around ugly, broken flowers. The door opened like the worn pages of a scary story read over and over. In the crook of his arm was a glass beer bottle.
“Hey honey!” He slurred. A wet kiss on her cheek. Like a dog.
She didn’t flinch this time. She always wanted a dog.
“Sorry about before! You know how I get when I’m hungry--I don’t like to wait!” He grazed her back with his fingers lightly, almost threateningly, as he stumbled to the worn armchair with his beer, tripping a little over the hardwood. “Woo, that is a fine shiner you got there sweetie!” He turned the tv on. Loud. Like he always does. Like she knew he would. From Daystar to Fox.
In the drawers under the kitchen island, she hid his shotgun.
She pulled it out slowly so she didn’t hit the pots and pans with the barrels of the gun. Her bones were lightning. Hands were earthquakes. A slow procession to the back of the armchair.
“Hey, hon, you need to stop changing the channel.” He turned around. a barrel for each eye.
Shotgun shells and broken glass make the same clatter when they hit the hardwood.
Patience
by Ashley Miller
Half Insane - Graphite
by Megan Phillips
Mnemosyne
Mixed media on canvas
by Aurora Pope
Deep in Thought - Acrylics
by Carol Hudson
What it Told Me
Mixed media on panel
by Aurora Pope
Barriers
by Alyssa Keeve
Downstairs I could hear many loud noises: the noisy ting of many cast iron skillets hitting the kitchen floor, the thunderous bellowing of my drugged step-father, the earsplitting shriek of my mother as her feet rushed through the house trying to get away. The ruckus had awoken my younger sister, Tess, who was seven at the time. She burst into my room sobbing, pleading, “I don’t want Dad to hurt her again . . . Chels . . . ma-ma-make it stop . . . please . . . .”
I quickly hung up the phone and hurried her onto my bed. I was ready. I slapped on my happy face and started the CD player. The Spice Girls began singing; I started yelling the lyrics into my hairbrush microphone. The chaos downstairs was so unbelievably booming. I cranked up the player as loud as it would go and continued to dance around the bed for what seemed like hours, until she stopped crying.
I realized what I really needed to do was retrieve her winter coat and bring her
somewhere safe, like Grandma’s. I kneeled in front of her as close as I could get, looked directly into her big, innocent, watery, blue eyes, and pledged I would return within fifteen seconds. “Okay Tessie . . . start counting . . . and close your eyes, cheater,” I teased through gritted teeth.
I opened my bedroom door and immediately saw my battered mother pinned to the rocking chair at the bottom of the tall staircase; my step-father was on top of her like an alpha-male wolf, teeth bared and snarling. I started running down the seventeen steps as fast as my athletic feet could carry me. As my step-father turned towards me, he saw the look of utter fear plastered onto my face, and turned towards my mother again. “Look, Val,” he hissed, “look what you’ve done. They hate me! They are scared of me. None of you love me . . . .”
I don’t know what came over me upon hearing his manipulative words, but my fear was immediately replaced by loathing and extreme rage. I felt my face flush with exasperation, my heart race uncontrollably, my fists quiver and quake. I turned all of my attention to the angry, drunk, and high meth addict. “Screw you! We don’t hate you, D—,” my words were cut short by . . .
What happened?
Momentarily, I couldn’t see anything but twinkling light deep in some black abyss. I found myself sprawled on the floor next to the door six feet from where I had been standing, the Christmas sleigh bells on it still tinkling from the impact. My ears rang so loudly! He crouched down to what seemed like only a few inches from me. “What did you say to me?!”
I stood up as quickly as I could, stumbling, trying to hide my weakness. I mustered, “Scr—,” but again faltered. This time there were new sensations in addition to the old. I could smell iron deep in my sinuses; I could hear air flow in my right ear. Oh, and my head . . . .“
Get out of my house, you worthless piece of meat!” he shouted.
“Fine.” I collected myself as best as I could. I stood up, not yet fully feeling the assault my body had just received. I reached for my little sister’s coat, and walked up to get her. I carried Tess down the stairs and out to my beat-up, old, blue car to make sure she was, foremost, the safest she could possibly be at that given moment. I came in and reached for my snow boots, but was pelted in the back of the head by the cordless phone that had been stationed in the kitchen. He had once been a celebrated local quarterback, so it had knocked me clean onto the entryway floor. The stinging, pinching, and throbbing sensations I now felt at the base of my spine were just the icing on the cake. “Don’t you ever come back here!”
I won’t. Ever.
Not once did my mother protect me that night, and not once did I cry. I was strong. It wasn’t until the next morning, at Grandma’s house, that I assessed the damage done to my face: perforated eardrum, black eye, cut lip, hand-print welts, and bruises. When confronted
by Grandma, my mother smugly stated my stepfather had done nothing but pushed me.
That was when I decided never to return to that house, that temple of anger and horrendous memories. Where I am from, people don’t leave, no matter what—ever. Not many understand how I could have turned my back on home and friends so abruptly. Subsequently, the ridicule I receive to this day from those ignorant of the abuse is flabbergasting.
Eight years later, Mac is still my best friend. We talk about what happened in the past every so often, but he says it’s only to remind me that I did the right things at the right times: that I did what I knew was for the best. Eight years, and I still haven’t gone back to that damned house alone or talked specifically about the events that occurred that night to anyone else besides Mac, not even my husband. All of the existing fears, memories, and guilt that haunted me then still provoke me now. I can merely put it all on paper for the world to see and pray for understanding.
Window
Mixed media on panel
by Aurora Pope
Everything is Lost
by Delance Walker
Rest for the Weary
by Leslie Jeter
Air Maiden
by Samantha Barwick
Facing the Sunrise
by Lily Sole
Cover by Alicia Hurd
Domestic Abuse Survivor Story 1
The Televangelist Epiphany.......................................Megan Maloof
Domestic Abuse Survivor Story 2
Domestic Abuse Survivor Story 3
What Happened?..........................................................Chelsea Merceri
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Welcome to the preview issue of HIGHTIDE! We are currently working hard towards our first full issue, and we hope this preview will give you an idea of what to expect from us in the future. Launching this issue during Domestic Violence Awareness Month, we knew the best use of our platform would be to focus on this serious topic. The following pages contain first-hand accounts from anonymous domestic abuse survivors as well as a selection of prose, poetry, art, and photography highlighting the pain, confusion, grief, and violence associated with domestic abuse. Keep in mind that the pieces here depict difficult truths and frequent manifestations of domestic violence and responses to it, but violence is not the answer to violence, and love shouldn't hurt. Due to the nature of this topic, please be aware that the content within these pages may trigger trauma for some and may not be appropriate for all audiences. However, we hope that these pages lead readers to support domestic violence awareness, the victims of domestic abuse, and local shelters/service providers, such as the Glynn Community Crisis Center here in Brunswick, GA. Thank you.
Special thanks to Alumnus Derek Jackson for his work on this issue.
Introduction
Butterfly
by Shawntay Rivers
I am like a butterfly swatted at and pawed by a bored feline for fun. Each time I get knocked to the ground I am more determined to get up and shake the dust from my wings so that I can fly away. But each time I show my strength, he is more amused and more determined to keep me down. It is not until I learn to stay down a little longer, so that my enemy thinks I am done fighting and turns his attention elsewhere, that I am able to gain true strength and fully rid myself of the dirt that was heaped upon me to hold me down and reveal my wonderful beauty as I fly over the head of my enemy and into my destiny.
A Splash of Color - colored ink (7” X 10”)
by Alicia Hurd
Prose
Poetry
Art
Photography
A Splash of Color.........................................................................Alicia Hurd
Half Insane..............................................................................Megan Phillips
Mnemosyne................................................................................Aurora Pope
Deep in Thought...................................................................Carol Hudson
What it Told Me....................................................................... Aurora Pope
Window...........................................................................................Aurora Pope
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When the Sun Goes Down.............................................Rosco Peters
New Movement........................................................................Larissa Berg
Down on Her Luck...................................................................Haustin Lee
Cabin Fever.................................................................................Donna Smith
Stained Wood and Glass....................................................Larry Carter
Patience........................................................................................Ashley Miller
Barriers..........................................................................................Alyssa Keeve
Everything is Lost...........................................................Delance Walker
Rest for the Weary....................................................................Leslie Jeter
Air Maiden......................................................................Samantha Barwick
Facing the Sunrise............................................................................Lily Sole
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